11: Erik
by Silent Elegy
Summary: It's time for the annual musical, but someone has other plans. A ghost's spell tranforms the school into the Opera Populaire, leaving Danny with only pieces of his memory intact. He must remember what he lost or be trapped in the Phantom's Opera forever.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: Danny Phantom and all related characters are the product of Butch Hartman and Nickelodeon studios. The Phantom of the Opera is the product of Andrew Lloyd Webber. Erik and Kat/Electra are the product Silent Elegy.

* * *

He loved listening to her perform at night. It was so much better than during the day, when the others held her back. He sighed longingly as her voice echoed across the mostly empty auditorium. He was supposed to have sung that song, many years ago. He thought he remembered her from back then. When she finally fell silent again, he cringed and glared jealously at the boy whose voice intruded on the perfection.

"You're sharp again."

"Bite me, Tucker."

"Hey, you're the one that asked me to do this."

To either side of the boy in question, Danny and Sam snickered. "No, see, you're supposed to tell her she's perfect," Danny informed him.

Kat sniffed haughtily. "Only because I am."

Sam shook her head, torn between laughter and exasperation. Kat was infuriatingly egotistical, and often difficult to tolerate for extended periods of time. But sometimes she did something or said something, and Danny's two friends couldn't help but laugh. "Shouldn't you be practicing your lines and not Rick's?" she asked.

"I'll be singing his part if I have any say in the matter."

"Which you don't," Danny reminded her.

Apparently oblivious to the exchange, Tucker tapped on the screen of his PDA to reset the pitch-finding program he had installed at Kat request. Her tone had a tendency to drift sharp whenever she sang unaccompanied, and she had asked for the three friends' help in correcting the issue. "Ready," he called.

"Hey, do that 'Notes' one!" Sam exclaimed. At Danny's amused expression, she shrugged. "It's funny."

As Kat's voice rang out in the appropriate words, the unnoticed shade hovered well outside the range of Danny's ghost sense. He had had months to figure out exactly where that was, and that knowledge had enabled him to avoid detection and capture. He was a weak spirit for the most part and didn't care for confrontation. All he wanted was to listen.

He growled angrily as the three friends laughed while his diva tripped over words that were meant to be sung by three and four people. It didn't matter that she, too, was doubled over with laughter. They were mocking her. They needed to be taught a lesson. He burned with the desire to teach them and held himself back with some effort.

"I refuse to sing 'Prima Donna', just so you all know," Kat announced. "I don't like Carlotta."

Sam snickered. "They should have gotten Paulina to play Carlotta. She would have been perfect for the role."

"Hey!" Danny exclaimed. Sadly, he was given no chance to defend his crush as Kat interrupted him.

"Are you kidding? Paulina couldn't act her way out of wet paper bag! With a hole in it!"

Sam nodded in mock-seriousness. "Yeah, good point." The girls burst out laughing.

"Excuse me, ladies," Tucker said. "I hate to break this up, but it's almost midnight."

"Bugger!" Kat declared. "Sleep is for the weak!"

They said their goodbyes, and Danny switched to ghost mode to carry his friends home. Backstage, the little shade shuddered happily and drifted closer. Now, it was just him and his angel…

He was meant to have played the Phantom once, long ago. He sometimes got confused. Soon, he thought, it wouldn't matter anymore. They were finally performing his play again, and he would have a second chance.

"Christine…" he whispered. She didn't hear.

She would.


	2. Chapter One

A bell cut through the afternoon sky, a harbinger of doom or delight, depending on one's point of view. For the student body of Casper High, delight was an understatement. It was finally Friday and the start of the weekend. For the three friends fighting their way against the tide of bodies, it was also the last day of dress rehearsals followed by opening night.

As Danny, Sam, and Tucker entered the auditorium, they were assaulted by noise from the small volunteer orchestra. It made a fitting match for the flurry of color as the few stage hands that had already arrived rushed to get props set up while the actors got in their way trying to find their costumes.

Sam and Tucker took seats in the back to watch the comedy that nearly always ensued during rehearsal. Danny trotted down the isle to join the rest of the crew.

"It is the worst possible thing that could possibly happen!" yelled a melodramatic voice.

"What happened this time?" Danny asked one of his fellow crew members.

The boy snickered slightly. "Lancer had them cut out _Don Juan Triumphant._"

"Um…I thought they got that all sorted out, already."

Kat grumbled something unintelligible. "Nope. Now, we go straight into _Point of No Return_."

Danny set down the prop he had been placing and joined the other stage hands in laughing at Kat's ranting. "Oh, come on. Can you blame him? This is high school, not Vegas."

The annual musical for the year was Phantom of the Opera. _Don Juan Triumphant_, in addition to being an important part of the show and the setup for Kat's favorite song, was an opera written by the Phantom himself. It was a disturbing display of darkness and fire reminiscent of its creator's state of mind. They had changed the original costumes and acting to something that was more family friendly, but apparently that was no longer enough.

Kat made a noise that was part sigh and part growl and stalked off to the other side of the stage. She was a thespian through and through; it wasn't what Lancer had cut that grated her nerves, it was that he had cut anything at all. Not that she would try anything on opening night. Like most theater actors, she was extremely superstitious.

The remainder of the cast and crew finally arrived to heated negotiations between Kat and Lancer for the return of the Phantom's opera. It wasn't going her way. The theater director finally called everyone to their places, effectively silencing the irate actor as she scurried to obey along with everyone else. The crew dispersed to their jobs, and Danny climbed up to the catwalks. For some strange reason, he was the only one willing to go up there. Something to do with a kid who fell from there and broke his neck. Supposedly, his ghost still haunted the place.

Danny grinned. The only ghost haunting the auditorium was himself, unless one counted the ethereal Kat Cadwell. She was an astral projection that had become separated from her body for some reason. She didn't like to talk about it.

A rattling noise signaled the arrival of Old Raoul's wheelchair in the auction house, and Danny quietly moved over to the crank that would help raise the broken chandelier. It had been made as lightweight as possible, but the Drama Club wasn't exactly the football team. They still needed some help to raise it.

After that, rehearsal went as it usually did, with kids forgetting their lines, Kat acting like a prima donna and threatening to quit, and inexplicable lighting and audio problems whenever the kid playing the Phantom messed up in some way. The self-styled gremlin was still sore that she hadn't gotten the part. She hadn't wanted to play Christine, but had finally accepted it on the grounds that no one else was qualified. Of course, to hear her talk, she should be playing every role in the musical single-handedly.

Danny sighed with boredom. He had seen this musical so many times that it just wasn't that interesting anymore. Although it was always fun to watch the kids mess up; they had a lot of fun with the outtakes. Kat's goof-ups were especially funny since she always acted like she was perfection incarnate. The boy laughed as she tripped over her tongue moments after reaming someone else out for the same thing.

She glared up at him. "You know there's a ghost up there, right?" she called.

He grinned ironically. "Yeah, I noticed."

There was a slamming noise and everyone jumped. The director stood from where he had just slammed his copy of the script onto the piano. "Children," he began angrily. "The musical is tonight. This will not do. Now, try it again from the top, and I want to see it flawless. Kat, if you threaten to quit one more time, you're out. I will put on a dress and play the role myself if I have to. Now, get with it."

She opened her mouth to retort but, for once, thought better of it. Danny jumped and rolled his eyes as the lights sparked briefly.

If the rehearsal was anything to go by, opening night was not going to go well. There was still the chance they could pull off a miracle, but it was doubtful. Rick simply could not play his part, a condition that gave Kat no end of smug pleasure. She had even gone so far as to suggest, within the poor boy's hearing, that the director play Christine and let her take over the Phantom.

They knew she liked to torment people, but that was just mean. True, she got more irritable when she was exhausted, but that was no excuse as far as her friend was concerned.

"How're you doing?" Danny asked quietly.

"I'm getting tired," Kat answered as they watched the seats slowly fill with people. "I was counting on getting more of break."

"Maybe if you'd stop bugging Rick, he'd know his part, and we wouldn't have been here so late." He jumped as she shocked him for the impudence.

"Attend to your own business, wimpled scut," she said warningly. "My mood fails to indulge."

In order to maintain the illusion that she was a normal human, she was forced to be solid to wear her costume. That was not a state she was very used to embracing on a regular basis. Additionally, she had to be visible all the way to the back of the auditorium, which took even more power. And, on top of all that, she had to stay audible at a decent volume. She had been in this almost-completely-human state for four hours and would remain such for several more. She was not happy.

Danny answered her threat with a roll of his eyes and quietly clambered up to the catwalk. From there, he could see over the top of the curtain to where his family and friends sat somewhere near the back. His father was going on about something; hopefully, it was ghosts and not "That's my son!" like he was afraid it might be. He watched the last members of audience trickle in while the orchestra faded out.

The little shade sighed as he watched his Christine play her part. She was angelic, he thought. Perfect. The star of show.

She would have loved to hear his ego-stroking inner monologue.

Soon, he thought, it would be time. He would finally be able to play his part, after all these years. He would be her Angel of Music, as he was meant to be.

"He must change!" "Raoul" exclaimed. "I'll order my carriage. Two minutes."

"No," Kat quoted the response. "Raoul, wait!" The orchestra played the slow interlude music while she wandered nervously around the set until it was time for "The Phantom" to sing his lines.

"Insolent boy, this slave of fashion," Rick's voice rang out, stronger than he had ever managed during practice. One of the spotlights blew out from Kat's amazement. "…basking in your glory! Ignorant fool, this brave young suitor, sharing in my triumph!"

She sang her response with an enthusiasm she had not shown in a long time, but Danny couldn't shake the sudden feeling that something was wrong. It was always somewhat chilly in the catwalks, but it had gradually been getting worse over the past few minutes. It was too dark to see if his breath was foggy, but he thought it had to be.

What could it be? Rick wasn't a ghost. He would have noticed a long time ago. "Oh, no…" he whispered, looking around. It just figured a ghost would decide to attack. He couldn't transform, not with his parents in the audience.

"Angel of music, hide no longer!" Kat sang below. "Secret and strange angel…"

Rick didn't answer. It took Danny a moment to notice that, focused as he was on trying to find the ghost. He glanced down to see the actor advancing slowly on Kat, despite the fact that he supposed to have been behind a false mirror. "Christine…" he whispered.

The orchestra faltered to ragged stop as everyone looked at each other. "Rick, what are you doing?" Kat demanded loudly, having grown tired of demanding it quietly.

"Kat!" Danny yelled down. "He's been overshadowed!"

The possessed boy looked up in annoyance. Suddenly, a loose cable dropped over Danny's head to tighten around his throat. He clutched at it, trying to pull it away. He could hear the roar of the frightened audience and his parents trying to shout directions, but it was fading.

Then it was gone.

* * *

A/N: Yes...well, to those of you confusing me with all the other authors who write cliched PotO stories, no. Sam is not even in the musical. She is certainly not playing the lead female, as that would be incredibly OOC for her. Further, Danny is only a stage hand, not the Phantom or Raoul, or any other character. Again: OOC. This is not PotO: DP style. This is not even "The school's putting on a musical and Danny and Sam are the leads". Sorry if I sound like I'm biting anyone's head off, but I'm getting a little sick of explaining this. Don't get me wrong; I love the fanmail. But stop asking about this, please.


	3. Chapter Two

Everything felt wrong. His neck burned, and he was mildly surprised to find some cable wrapped around it. Had someone tried to kill him? Who would do such a thing? Well, they had failed, anyway. He should tell the stage manager.

Stage manager? They didn't have a stage manager, just the director.

But that was ridiculous. How could the company perform without a…

What company?

The theatre company…of course…right?

No, that wasn't right.

"What happened?" he muttered and winced as the words irritated his sore throat. Standing, he noticed that things were different somehow. He thought he must have hit his head or something because half of his mind kept trying to convince him that the auditorium was not that big. The stage was not that far away. There weren't that many seats out there. And where was the audience? Where had they gone?

Although he knew it had to be his imagination, the feeling was strong enough to scare him. He clambered out of the flies to the stage, hoping to find someone who might be able to tell him what was going on. The stage, as usual, was a flurry of activity. He might have been a ghost for all the attention the actors paid him as he hunted for Madame Giry or Monsieur Firmin.

At that thought, half of his mind set up a clamor that made him dizzy. Giry and Firmin didn't exist; they were just characters in a theater production.

That was ridiculous. Of course, they existed. And he needed to find them because-

No, that stage hand could not have just walked through him. It wasn't…

…might have been a ghost…

"Am I dead?" he whispered. "Did I die up there?"

His breath caught in his throat as he looked around at all the people. They weren't just ignoring him; they couldn't see him. He was a ghost.

Half of his mind cried out in victory at the obvious observation. It reminded him that he had been a ghost, or at least half ghost, for quite some time, now. It proceeded to explain in excruciating detail why none of this was possible.

Wonderful. Not only was he dead, but he was schizophrenic.

The part of him that seemed to know what had happened pointed out that he had learned that word from his sister, supposedly during a time when women weren't readily accepted as being intelligent enough to know psychology. It then encouraged him to compare his clothing to everyone else's.

At first, he wondered what was so strange about jeans and t-shirt. After a moment, he got it and sat down hard on the stage floor. Something had happened…now, if he could just remember what. He jumped as someone else walked through him and decided to move to less trafficked area.

No one could see him…

No one could hear him…

No one even knew he was there…

He staved off the panic by looking around. It wasn't much of a distraction, but it did tell him that no one in sight was older than eighteen. After a moment, that annoyed little voice in the back of his head reminded him that wasn't normal for anything other than a school musical.

He shivered involuntarily as the thought of voices in his head brought up the image of two ice-blue eyes. He couldn't remember why that should scare him, but it did. Seeking another distraction, he wandered around the opera house.

AUDITORIUM!

He pressed his hands to the sides of his head as a migraine threatened to blind him. It was almost as though his very personality had been fractured by what had happened…

And what had happened, anyway? He couldn't remember anything of his life before waking up on the catwalk. Had he even existed then?

That was just being ridiculous. Of course, he existed. He was…

…was…

…

He couldn't remember. He couldn't even remember his own name. He sat down near the wall in a far corner of the great hall and dropped his head into his hands. He had to remember. He just knew that if he could remember his name, everything else would come back to him. He knew everyone else's name, just not his.

But that wasn't true, either, was it? He knew the names the ghost had given them, not their…real…

Ghost? That's right…there was a ghost. And it wasn't him.

A ghost…

A boy…who fell from the catwalk…

He shivered suddenly and jumped to his feet, although he was uncertain exactly where that reaction came from. For a moment, it felt like some malevolent presence had passed by. Then it was gone again.

What had happened to him? What was he? He couldn't be human, but he wasn't ready to accept that he was a ghost. Being a ghost meant that he was dead, and he just couldn't believe that.

But did it mean that? Did it really? A fragment of thought drifted across his mind's eye of a boy's reflection in a computer monitor. White hair, black costume, glowing green eyes…that couldn't be him, but that nagging, little, thrice-cursed voice tried to convince him that it was.

Maybe he'd just been possessed. Maybe the ghost he remembered had overshadowed his body. Not that that made much sense, but not much else did, either.

And why did he even know what a computer monitor was?

The doors to admit the audience swung open, and he pressed himself against (and almost through) the wall to avoid the people. Instead of a crowd, however, he was met by the comical sight of Andre, Firmin, and a handful of stage hands carrying Carlotta around on a litter. She didn't seem to notice that her "adoring fans" were leering and jeering. He shook his head and laughed along with them; some things never changed.

Well, he certainly needed that bright spot in this dark time. Maybe there was someone here who could see him and knew who he was. Maybe they would even know what happened. He set off to find just such a person.

The voice actually waited a full five minutes before it pointed out that people didn't walk around singing at the top of their lungs socially. He firmly ignored it; while he did find that he agreed, he didn't want anything to ruin his mood. He held the thought that someone might see him in the front of mind, like a shield to ward off bad thoughts. It was a shame it didn't work on imagined voices.

Strangely enough, the silence from that half of his mind seemed hurt, but he didn't want to dwell on it. There were people. "Excuse me!" he said loudly. The two young ballerinas didn't even stop their conversation. They might even if have walked into him if he hadn't gotten nervous and jumped out of the way. The last thing he needed was a reminder about how intangible he was.

Intangible and invisible…

He firmly pushed that thought away and continued until he found Madame Giry and her daughter discussing what might have happened to Christine. Both were oblivious to his calls, naturally. He could see something not quite right about them, but it took some mental prompting before he realized that they were the same age.

No, that couldn't be right. Madame Giry merely looked young for her age.

But still…eighteen? Not even that. She was seventeen.

He shoved that thought away as well as Meg mentioned the Phantom. Something about that name rang a bell in his mind, and he was surprised to find the dissenting half in agreement for once. But that wasn't his name, was it? He wasn't the Opera Ghost.

He could almost feel the other half of his mind mentally smack itself.

Or was he?

No, that didn't sound right. The name was close, but…

Well, it was close, and it was a name. Phantom felt better for having something to call himself. He listened for that little voice, but it seemed content as well. He watched Madame Giry precede her daughter down the hall and shook his head. That wasn't right, he realized. They were nearly the same age.

Actors…

A ghost attack…

The school musical…

And a flood of senseless images that he thought, with great frustration, he should be able to understand. It made sense; it really did. But every time he thought he caught it, it danced away again, leaving him no more enlightened than before. He finally forced the images…memories away and focused on his surroundings. Did they seem a bit more faded than before?

A faint whimper drew his attention to a nearby door. He was a hero, the voice chided. He should go see what was wrong.

Now, that was ridiculous. Phantom had used that word for a lot of things to day, but that one actually applied. He was no hero; he was just some confused kid and probably dead, at that. Besides, no one could see or hear him. If the person was being attacked, all he would be able to do would be to stand by helplessly and watch. He didn't want to have to.

For the first time since he awoke, he realized that the voice in his head was having trouble remembering everything as well. That was not a very comforting thought. It seemed to know a way he could fight back, but it didn't remember how to activate it. Yet. It felt sure that it would remember once they were actually in the situation.

He argued with himself for a few more minutes and finally compromised by just poking his head through the door. He wasn't sure what he was expecting, but he did know it had something to do with metal armor and green light. He decided not to dwell on it and stepped the rest of the way into the room.

It was Christine…

But that wasn't her name.

She was crying.

She never cried. She wasn't crying. Christine was crying.

He shook his head as though he could simply dislodge the unwelcome passenger. That last thought had thoroughly confused him, and the hurt silence was starting to make him angry. The voice seemed to expect things of him, and he couldn't remember why.

Forcing his thoughts away, he crept forward. "Miss Daaé?" he couldn't help but ask. She didn't react, naturally.

No, that was wrong. She was a ghost. She should have…

Christine wasn't a ghost.

Not Christine! Phantom winced as his brain registered a feeling much like being slapped on the back of the head. Christine was a character, the voice tried to point out. It was talking about the actor. However, it did concede that he was right. She wasn't a ghost. It couldn't remember what she was exactly, just that she was something close.

The voice in his head fell silent again. Eventually, he left. He hated feeling useless. Maybe the voice was right, and he was supposed to have been a hero at time.

But he wasn't anymore.


	4. Chapter Three

"I heard Christine was crying in her dressing room," whispered a ballerina.

"Well, I heard it's because the Opera Ghost kidnapped her and had his way with her," replied her young friend.

Madame Giry hissed for silence. It was getting more and more difficult to find truly dedicated girls.

Phantom paid little attention to the conversation and tried to focus on the crowd. For some reason, that was a very difficult thing to do. They seemed to swim around in front of his eyes, so that he saw the same few faces wherever he looked. They were so familiar, but he couldn't place them.

At last, he shook his head in an attempt to clear it and turned to survey the cast and crew. Although it felt like trying to swim through quick-dry cement, he had finally come to terms with the fact that there weren't enough of them. Not for a place this size. Between the extras, the actors, and the ballerinas, there shouldn't have been nearly enough stage hands to finish what needed to be done. And yet, everything got done somehow.

He started to go back to puzzling out the audience, and his gaze landed on Christine in her page's outfit as she feigned a kiss with Carlotta's character. She'd always hated that outfit, even to the point of a loud blow-up with the director that it be dyed dark grey. While sky blue wasn't as bad as pink, she hated pastel as much as…

…as…

There was a name there if he could just remember it. With a disgusted snort, he tried to remember what he had been thinking about, but it was gone. He wasn't surprised, but he was encouraged. He had remembered something important, he felt. Something about his life before waking up. Maybe next time, he could avoid being distracted by a name, and he'd actually retain the memory.

He jumped along with everyone else as a loud, booming voice echoed across the hall. "Did I not instruct that Box Five was to be kept empty?"

He spared a moment while the cast shared his sentiment about the voice's owner, then went chasing after the real Phantom…the Opera Ghost. The acoustics were oddly bad considering how well the opera house had been…

But then, they weren't in an opera house, were they? He shoved the thought away and went back to the business at hand: getting up the ladder to the flies as quickly as possible. It seemed to take far less time than it should have considering the vaulted ceiling, but the Opera Ghost was nowhere in sight. He thought the voice had been coming from there somewhere. With a mental curse, he slid back down to check backstage. What had made him think his quarry was up there in the first place?

He ran all over the backstage, but that nagging voice in his head only grew louder as it commanded him back to the stage and the catwalks. Eventually, left with no other possibilities, he went back.

One of the stage hands should have been up there, he knew. He even knew who it would have been, although how he knew was beyond him. He had just decided to give it up when a weight landed behind him and something began to cut off his air. "Think you can stop me?" whispered a harsh voice.

A witty remark sprang to mind, but all Phantom could manage was a choked gurgle.

"I have to kill someone here," the voice continued. "It was going to be Joseph Bouquet, but you'll do just as well. That's just how it has to be, you understand. I'd say it was nothing personal, but…well…it is."

He couldn't breathe, and he was getting lightheaded. In a sudden burst of inspiration, the boy forced himself to relax and stop fighting. He still couldn't breathe, but the noose loosened just a hair's breadth. After a moment, it loosened a bit more as the Opera Ghost adjusted it to not take his head off when he was dropped to the stage.

Phantom took extremely shallow breaths, as painful as it was, and tried to think. In a few minutes, he was going to be pushed off of here. At that time, it wouldn't matter that he had fooled his captor into thinking he was dead; his neck would snap like a twig.

Down below, he could hear the emergency intermission reach its climax, and then he was falling. He closed his eyes as the stage floor rush to meet him and willed himself to do something, anything. He was a ghost, wasn't he? Ghosts could fly. He heard the screams as the audience saw a hanged corpse before he realized that his fall had stopped. He pried his eyes open.

They didn't see him, of course. They saw the body of Joseph Bouquet, who was supposed to have died there. He chanced to look up, but his would-be executioner had gone. After a moment, he realized his tether had dropped loosely to the floor and pulled the noose from around his neck. He saw Christine and Raoul run off somewhere and fought off the compulsion to follow them. She was probably just terrified, and there was nothing he could do, anyway. Instead, he drifted slowly toward the ground, took two steps, and fell to his knees as the last several minutes caught up to him.

He really was a ghost; a real one. The Opera Ghost had sounded surprised to see him. He decided that he must have died the first time he'd been caught in that noose. He felt the other half of his mind give up in frustration, but what else could have happened? It was the only logical answer.

No, it wasn't. But that still didn't help him. He looked around, then stood and left the stage. He needed to think, and all the screaming was too much of a distraction. A scene much like the one he was avoiding crept into his mind. The Phantom of the Opera stepped from a mirror…and Christine…but it wasn't Christine…was it?

"This isn't real," he said. He rubbed his throat and tried again. "None of this is real."

Still nothing happened. He was discouraged. He thought for sure that knowing it was a spell would break it, like it had…

_Two black holes, a flash of light off metal, and behind that, a pair of ice blue eyes…_

Silver.

He shuddered involuntarily and glanced around, as though he expected her to appear. But with the name, his memory of her returned, and the stage seemed a little more faded. He could almost see what was behind it.

That was it, of course. Her near-constant toying with his mind must have given him some resistance against mental intrusion. Between that and the fact that he was half ghost, he was only partially under the spell.

"This isn't real!" he yelled, daring the Opera Ghost to come find him. His memory may have still been in fragments, but he knew what was going on. Now, if he could just make himself heard.

The screaming stopped. He noticed Christine and Raoul come back; they looked much happier. After a moment's thought, he followed the soprano to her dressing room. Meg was already there, concern written in her every movement.

The school musical…that's what started all this. The Phantom…the other Phantom, at least…would be fixated on Christine. There had to be a way to protect her. He stared at his hand as though it might suddenly reveal all the answers.

Lost in thought, he didn't notice when the door opened behind him until Christine walked through him. He jumped as an electric shock passed through him, and the two girls stopped.

"Is something wrong?" Meg asked worriedly.

Christine looked around, blinking in the ghost boy's general direction. "I…I…" She shook her head and shuddered. "I'm sure it was nothing. Come. The show must go on."

"It doesn't have to," Phantom called after them. Christine faltered, as though she heard him but chose to keep walking. He sighed and followed them.

The audience…wasn't as big as he thought. It was still difficult to focus on the myriad faces, but he could tell that much, at least. They looked like an illusion, like the Opera Ghost had taken a few people and projected their images everywhere he looked. And he knew them. Those were his friends…there was his family…and over there were a few people he didn't like…and he couldn't remember any of their names.

And then he realized why. The members of the audience never had names. Only a few of the stage hands had names. If they weren't important to the production, they were known as "Man Enters from Stage Left" or "Third Ballerina from the Right". Phantom had been a member of the crew, not the cast. He hadn't needed a name.

Then he caught up with his thought process. "I was alive," he said to no one in particular. "I am alive." He grinned as he realized that the voice in the back of his head hadn't bothered him in some time. There was something else nagging at him, though. Something rather pressing…

He heard a soft chime from somewhere above and jumped out of the way just as the chandelier crashed to the stage. There was no restraining the audience; they had already been scared enough by the sudden presence of a dead man. Even though no one was hurt, they screamed and ran as fast the people in front would let them. Even the cast scattered like sheep, except for Christine. She stared at the fallen lights with a haunted expression, then walked calmly from the auditorium.

The world faded to black.


	5. Chapter Four

There was music in the darkness. It was decidedly strange. "You have got to be kidding me…" Phantom muttered, unless he simply thought it. He had known that the Opera Ghost was a little loony; most ghosts were. But…

Intermission?

* * *

He looked around as everything faded back in. The chandelier was gone. The actors were gone. The audience was still there, but they were very faded. Their eyes were closed, as though they were asleep.

Of course, they were asleep until they were needed again. Even they were nothing but puppets in this play. He could hear singing out in the "foyer" and didn't investigate. He knew the song, anyway, having heard it enough times from…

He growled in frustration as the only name willing to spring to mind was "Christine." "That's not right!" he exclaimed. "That's not her name. And I'm-" He broke off and smiled slightly.

Names…That's how he controlled them. A simple suggestion that conveyed so much, especially when the name already had a certain identity attached. The Opera Ghost called her Christine; that's who she became.

"But what does that make me?" he wondered aloud. His name was Phantom, as well.

Or was it? He hadn't actually been given a name. He had simply picked one that sounded right. He had no idea if it was his real name or not, but maybe that didn't matter. He awkwardly invoked his ghost powers to drift over the audience and back to the people he had recognized as being family. "Can you hear me?" he asked quietly, expecting no response. He searched their faces, trying to dredge up anything he knew.

"Sam," he whispered happily, eye landing on his goth friend. Memories of much happier times flooded his mind, but before he could remember the others, that nagging feeling came back. It had warned him about the chandelier, and he wasn't inclined to ignore it now. Some part of him knew what was about to happen. With a reluctant glance at his friends and family, he flew over the rest of the audience and slammed into the far wall, where he bounced back and fell to the ground, rubbing his nose painfully. The walls were becoming more real to him…he shoved that away for future reference and went intangible.

The Opera Ghost strutted down a set of stairs that wasn't really there; it gave him a headache to watch. He looked out over the assembled actors and was met by a sea of confusion and fear that remained unhidden by ethereal masks. They swam around his vision like the audience had, trying to look like more people than were actually there.

It was the scene where the Phantom gave the cast his opera. He sang the instructions, a fact that was quickly wearing thin to the boy's mind. He was in the process of trying to remember how his ectoplasmic energy blast worked when his enemy got to _her_.

Kat's eyes sparked and shifted colors, though no one else seemed to notice. She was becoming faded as the strain of being human-

Wait. He closed his eyes, trying in vain to recapture the name, but it was gone. He angrily shoved the thought away in favor of the current events. Any second, a hole should open in the floor, and Raoul would chase the Phantom through it. If he recalled correctly, there was some controversy over whether or not it should be done like that, so he had no idea that it would until it did.

As soon as his quarry's attention was elsewhere, everyone started to mill aimlessly about with somewhat blank expressions. The crowd stopped making his eyes water and began reverting to their more usual roles as ballerinas and stage hands. Christine, clearly upset, followed Meg back to her dressing room. Once again, he followed.

After what seemed like an eternity, Meg left and he poked his head inside to see Christine in tears. "Angel of music," she whispered, sniffling. "Friend or Phantom…Oh, father, why did you leave me?"

Phantom opened his mouth, then closed it again with a sigh. Even assuming she could have heard him, he didn't want to call her Christine. On the other hand, he needed to talk to someone, and she had almost seemed to hear him earlier. After…

He closed his eyes, took a steadying breath, and walked through her. Even prepared for the shock, it made him jump. He turned just in time to see her head snap straight up. She froze, hardly daring to breath, and turned slowly. After a few moments staring at each other, she said, "You're not really there."

"You can see me?" Phantom asked excitedly.

She shook her head and turned back around. "I see nothing."

"And you can hear me, too!"

The girl clapped her hands over her ears and shook her head again. "Leave me alone! Who are you?"

"Kat, listen to-" They both froze then. Phantom rubbed his eyes to ward off the headache brought on by sudden memory, then grinned.

Kat closed her eyes, then faded the rest of the way, allowing the hated costume to fall. When she reappeared, it was in jeans and a t-shirt with eyes that blazed an angry red. "I'm going to kill him," she all but growled.

"You can't!" Phantom argued. "He's still possessing…ugh, do you remember his name?"

She seemed about to speak, then stopped. "Actually, I don't even remember yours."

"Yeah, I'm having that problem myself. Listen, why don't you just pretend your still under his spell for a little while? I need to see who else I can wake up."

Kat shimmered a bit and reformed in a mock-up of her costume. "Fine, but I refuse to be tangible. I've had enough of solidity."

"Trade you," Phantom laughed. He phased through the wall without explaining and went back to the auditorium. The illusion was almost completely gone; he could see the sleepers without even squinting. "Sam?" he said hesitantly. No response. "Sam, come on. I know you can hear me. Just open your eyes."

Kat had seen him, but walking through her had shocked her as it had him. Since Christine couldn't possibly have electric ghost powers, it had been enough to wake her somewhat. After a moment's thought and some deliberation over the fairy tale Sleeping Beauty, he put his hands on her shoulders and leaned close to her ear.

"Listen to me," he said quietly. "Your name is Samantha Manson. You and Tucker are my best friends…" He trailed off as memories returned in response to the identity. "Come on, guys! Wake up!"

"They won't awaken!" said a voice from behind him. Phantom whirled around, but he was too slow. The Opera Ghost's noose was already around his neck. "Why don't you just die?"

The boy struggled against his oppressor, trying to get his fingers between the rope and his throat. He had just started to see spots when he remembered that he could go intangible and mentally kicked himself. Free again, he swung a leg at his opponent, who ducked. "I'm not going to let you do this!" he exclaimed.

The masked figure sneered. "How do you plan to stop when you don't even exist?"

"If I don't exist, why are you so worried?"

He must have struck a nerve. With an animalistic snarl, the Opera Ghost lunged for him. Something started to cut off his air, and he saw the noose glow with ectoplasmic energy. He couldn't phase through it, but he did manage to get his fingers under it. He fought the restraining bonds for what seemed like an eternity and thought he would lose again.

Suddenly, the Opera Ghost cursed colorfully and vanished, leaving the ghost boy gasping for air. "Miss…your cue?" he tried to joke. It didn't work very well. The confrontation taught him one thing, at least.

If he was going to wake anyone else out of this, he needed to remember who he was.

* * *

A/N: So how's it so far? Anyone confused yet? Seriously, please tell me in minute detail what confuses you and why. I want to be sure I don't miss explaining anything. I know this one is kind of hard to follow because it takes place from the point of view of Danny thinking. I wanted a slightly different, more artistic approach for this one because of its subject matter, and, while I think it's perfect, I'm not sure how well its going from anyone else's point of view. 


	6. Chapter Five

Phantom looked down at his white gloved hands, torn between a mixture of emotions that he didn't really understand. There was happiness, but sadness, as well. And, fainter, was the anger that confused him the most. It was strange, but he didn't actually remember transforming when he used his powers earlier. He thought he should be bothered, but he wasn't. He had other things to worry about, anyway.

With Kat distracting the Opera Ghost, he had been free to figure things out. So far, he had discovered that anyone not being focused on directly had a tendency to forget whom they were supposed to be. Any and all attempts to use that to his advantage had been met with the same lack of response. Although a few people had blinked confusedly in his general direction, no one actually saw him.

The Opera Ghost did not notice Kat's deception during the graveyard scene, which led Phantom to another realization. As long as they were in character, they didn't notice anything that wasn't part of the musical. That also meant that they could switch between their roles and their true identities, which further meant that the Phantom of the Opera still knew who he really was, at least on some level.

A low humming grabbed his attention a few seconds before Kat actually spoke. "I'm going to kill my dad!" she announced happily, completely out of the blue.

The boy grinned at the apparent randomness of her statement. "Why?"

"Remember back when he and Ember got together and caused all those blackouts?" Although it took some thought, Phantom found that he did remember and said as much. "Now, remember how I said that was bad luck?" She resumed quietly singing "Superstition" while her friend laughed at her weirdness.

"How can you claim to be such a genius and still believe in luck that much?"

"Hey! I don't _claim_ anything! I am the smartest person…ever!"

Phantom raised an eyebrow at that. "Kat. Your dad is Technus."

She nodded triumphantly. "Yes! And even he is of less intelligence than I, for I am-"

"Definitely your father's daughter," he interrupted, trying not to laugh too hard at the girl's ego trip. He didn't want her to start pouting, after all. It made the histrionics worse.

She sniffed arrogantly and turned back to stare at herself in the barely-visible mirror. "I think my cue's coming up," she said, choosing not to pursue the potential argument. "Are you ready?"

Phantom hovered quietly for a few moments. "What happens if this doesn't work?"

Kat shrugged. "I'd rather not find out. Now, let us bring this blasted debacle to an end." Summoning her most egotistical posture, she swept from the room with an accompanying eye roll from the ghost boy.

"I can't believe I let you talk me into this," he muttered, following.

* * *

If he was going to be completely honest with himself, the plan had been his idea. At least, it had been in the beginning. Force the Opera Ghost to confront his true identity, and maybe it would break apart the illusion. Of course, that left the question of how they could interact with each other, which, in turn, led to Kat's "Plan." It had seemed like a fine idea until the boy remembered who Technus was and how his plans usually turned out.

The thing about the _Phantom of the Opera_ was that it was not simply a hit Broadway musical. It was two or three musicals, several movies, and the original novel. Tucker's PDA had provided some very interesting details about the book and the boy who had once fallen out of the catwalks.

It really was the most fascinating coincidence. Perhaps it was even the reason he had been drawn to the character in the first place.

He took a breath, still unsure whether or not it would work, and went intangible. After another moment's hesitation, he flew out onto the stage and through Rick. At first, he thought they had failed. His name may have been Phantom, but surely just putting on a mask and cape wasn't enough to give him the specific classification necessary to interaction. Then he felt his quarry struggle in his arms; Rick dropped to the floor in a dead faint.

"No!" the ghost wailed. "That's not possible! How?"

"There's more than one Phantom, _Erik_," Kat said smugly while she checked that the formerly possessed actor was alright. "Or did you forget about the book?"

"And all the times it's been remade?" Phantom added, tossing his costume to the floor where it vanished in Kat's signature blue smoke. "The spell was about names, wasn't it? My name is Phantom, too."

For just a moment, Erik the Opera Ghost looked like he was about to throw a temper tantrum. Then he smiled. "You think you have beaten me? Look around! As long as I have a single soul in thrall, my influence can only grow stronger. By dawn, I have will the whole of the city in my grasp, including you deviants! I will remake Paris in my image, and you, my dear Christine, will be mine."

Phantom lifted his eyebrow. "Um…This is Amity Park."

He barely managed dodge Erik's ectoplasmic lasso. "Don't talk to me about that!" he yelled. "It is what I say it is!"

"You're not the real Phantom! You're just a kid with the same name!"

Kat laughed from somewhere beyond the fight. "Yeah, a friendless geek with the same name!" she added.

"SHUT UP!" Erik roared.

"Hounded down by everyone! Met with hatred everywhere!" the girl pressed on, recklessly mocking him. "No kind words from anyone! No compassion anywhere!"

Phantom found himself praying that she knew what she was doing, and was afraid she did not. Erik had fallen in the process of trying of to push one of the boys who made fun of him, the one who had been playing Joseph Bouquet back then. If he hadn't broken his neck, he probably would have been responsible for a bad school shooting.

And Kat had decided to mock him.

Apparently forgetting that his preferred weapon was a noose, he began firing energy blasts at both of them. Phantom ducked and returned with one of his own; Kat simply vanished to reappear elsewhere, perfectly content to let her friend handle the work. "Betrayed by everyone!" she laughed. "It's your fate to be hated, _Erik_!"

Erik gave a choked cry that was more despair than anger and blasted his tormentor with enough power to break apart her form. Suddenly realizing what he had done, he fell to his knees. "Christine…" he whispered, almost on the verge of tears.

Phantom knew she'd be fine in a hour or two, once she collected the scattered bits of her consciousness again. "Her name is Katrina," he informed the ghost.

"No!" Erik exclaimed; he jumped to his feet and whirled around in almost the same motion. "You took her from me! It was you! Well, I'll show you! I'll show you all!" He threw a blast and lunged toward the audience. "I'll take your Christine away, just like you took mine!"

Phantom, unable to dodge in time, struggled back to his feet. He may have yelled, but he was never quite sure. He watched Erik gather up an unconscious Sam and dive through the floor, and then reality shattered.


	7. Chapter Six

Danny's first thought, as the blinding headache faded, was simply to be grateful it was so brief. His second thought was that he remembered everything, but his joy was quickly extinguished by the sudden realization that he was staring down the barrel of a ghost bazooka.

He slowly lifted his hands and said, "I didn't do it."

"Where's Danny?" Jack asked dangerously while his wife got everyone away.

"Um…the ghost…took him…?"

There was a pause, then Maddie yelled, "Jack, forget the ghost kid and come help me!"

Danny breathed a sigh of relief as the weapon reluctantly left his view. It was easier to deal with his parents of late, but they still had a tendency to assume the worst of him. At least, they hadn't actively tried to hunt him down in quite a while. He dove below the stage before either of them could change their minds.

He never knew there was anything below the school, and he wasn't entirely certain it was actually there. Real or not, however, the only light came from his ghostly glow. The tunnel had been designed for Raoul, who didn't have ghost powers and would have a hard time getting passed the all the traps. Danny simply went intangible and flew straight through.

Suddenly, he was blinded by a flash of light. He heard Sam call his name as a noose dropped around his neck. "Let go of me!" he choked out as the ectoplasmic construct tightened painfully.

"Order your fine horses, now!" Erik laughed. "Raise up your hand to the level of eyes!"

"Dude, that's getting really old."

"Let him go!" Sam called angrily. Her tone seemed to startle the ghost, but he recovered quickly enough to grin evilly.

"Start a new life with me," he sang, still quoting the musical. "Buy his freedom with your love. Refuse me and you send your lover to his-"

"He's not my boyfriend!" Sam yelled at almost the same time Danny exclaimed, "She's not my girlfriend!"

Again, Erik seemed nonplussed. That was not how the scene was supposed to go. There should have been a long trio during which he and Raoul tried to convince Christine…

And suddenly, he realized his mistake. It wasn't Raoul who had come chasing after him. It was another Phantom, one who had used the description from the book for his character. In Erik's mind, he was fighting another version of himself, but one that was more evil and unpredictable. It was, perhaps, a very good thing for everyone that Danny was not under his spell.

He looked at Sam, standing a good distance away so as not to provoke him. He looked at Danny, fingers locked around the noose lest it tighten anymore. He considered letting it fall and walking away while he still had the chance. It would have been the intelligent thing to do, but even alive, he'd been impulsive and foolhardy.

Danny gagged and tried to pull the noose away, but his enemy was too strong. It would take some time before Erik's power faded again, and he fully intended to lay the competition to rest before that happened. He noticed the boy's eyes lock on something behind him moments before a rock hit him across the back of the head.

Erik may have been a ghost, but the Phantom was human. While the rock didn't do any actual damage, he thought he could feel the pain. He dropped the end of the rope and staggered around to face his attacker, finally understanding his second mistake.

Sam was not Christine. As much as he may have wanted her to be, she was not. She would not stand idly by while her best friend was in danger. She threw a second rock, then glanced at Danny. "Are you okay?" He nodded vaguely, rubbing his abused throat.

Erik shook his head and took an uncertain step forward. "Christine…" he whispered. "Why?"

"My name is Sam," she informed him.

He fell to his knees with a wail of pure despair that quickly degenerated into wracking sobs. All his illusions were shattered; his power was gone. The great cavern became a simple basement, and his form and voice slowly faded away until he was just a shade once more.

Danny and Sam rushed to reassure themselves that the other was alright. "Hey, you beat the ghost!" the boy exclaimed, smiling.

Sam turned a shade of red more usually found on tomatoes. "Yeah, I guess so." Somewhere in the back of her head, a voice that sounded suspiciously like Tucker's yelled, "Tell him!"

Unaware of their silent watcher, they continued to stare at each other for several seconds. At last, Danny ducked his head shyly and drifted around to pick her up. "We should head back before Mom and Dad freak."

She could have strangled him.

* * *

Erik looked around in mild confusion and wondered where he was. He watched the two strangers fly through the far wall and followed them for simple lack of anything else to do. Did he know them? The longer he followed them, the more familiar they seemed.

After some time, they led him back to the place he knew as the Opera House. He looked around again and smiled. He remembered.

* * *

Danny thrashed around a bit in his usual nightmare of late until something woke him up. At first, his sense of reality was a bit confused, then he remembered where he was. He looked over to see that it was just before five and wondered why it was so cold in his room.

"Oh, not again…" he groaned, switching to his ghost form, and lunged forward just as an ectoplasmic noose dropped around where his neck should have been. He started to say something, then changed his mind and said, "Dude! Get out of Rick!"

"You took her from me," Erik unnecessarily informed him. "You took everything from me."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Danny yawned. "And now you're here for revenge. Can we get this over with? I'd like to go back to bed while it's still dark."

Erik snarled and lunged for his throat, knocking them both to the floor. Danny grabbed his opponent's wrists and tried to pull him off. When that didn't work, he tried to use a weak blast of ectoplasmic energy, but that failed as well. He couldn't use a stronger blast without hurting Rick, but he couldn't seem to get Erik off of him.

They rolled around the floor, wrestling for the upper hand, and succeeded in knocking over a dresser and smashing everything on top of it. He winced as the sound of pounding footsteps reached his ears. Not much wanting to deal with parents right then, he went intangible and dragged Erik through the floor.

"Get…off!" he gasped. Erik was too far gone into mania to hear.

The kitchen collapsed as they landed on it; it wasn't the first time. Fortunately, the fall had the added benefit of knocking Erik away. He staggered to his feet and lunged forward again, but Danny expected it. He twisted out of the way and managed to wrap his arms around the ghost's chest, then pulled him further down to the lab.

"Now," he panted as he shoved away the struggling body. "Time for you to go back where you belong!" As Erik lunged for him yet again, he went intangible, reached through Rick, and yanked the ghost back out. Barely missing a beat, he threw open the Ghost Portal and shoved his captive into the Ghost Zone before slamming it closed again.

"You okay?" he asked, turning back to a very dazed and confused Rick.

"Huh?" He glanced around, then jumped as a voice yelled something upstairs accompanied by the sound of footsteps thundering down the stairs.

Danny grinned slightly. "Why don't I just take you home?"

Rick was completely unresisting as he was carried through a house and into the sky. "You're Danny Phantom," he said in quiet wonderment. "This is such an honor to be rescued by you. I have such a crush on you."

It took a second for that to register; it was so very unexpected. Once it did, Danny found himself at a loss for words.

"I know, I know. I've seen the fan girls. I just had to say it, or I would've regretted it forever."

"Um…thanks?"

The boy just laughed.


	8. Epilogue

After the ghostly catastrophe of opening night, the musical was canceled. Surprisingly, Kat was not livid. In fact, after announcing her complete agreement on the subject, she vanished, quite literally, in front of everyone.

Danny had to grant her that much, at least: she knew how to make an exit. A week later, everyone was still talking about how she was a ghost. He drifted invisibly through the wall of the Hot Pink Lizard. Although he knew she would be there, it took him a few seconds to find her.

It was her voice that gave her away; that, and the song "Superstition." Kat was actually on stage. Kat actually looked twenty-six for once, and was wearing civilian no less. The male patrons hooted appreciatively at the change in their resident ghost girl.

The song over, she sauntered back to her usual booth. "I was bored," she explained in answer to his unspoken question. "And…I think I've had my fill of theater for a while."

"Wow! Seriously?" Kat just shrugged, eliciting a very amused laugh from the ghost boy. "I never thought I'd see the day." He jumped as she lightly shocked him.

"Don't you have a boyfriend to get back to?" she asked curiously.

Danny glared. "Rick told you."

"Yep. And I told the whole school right before I left." She affected a thoughtful expression and added, "I think I may have embellished a bit. You did kiss, didn't you?"

"Kat…" he said warningly. She snickered and vanished. Danny spared a moment to wonder, not for the first time, why he tolerated her before he followed suit.

* * *

Deep in the heart of the Ghost Zone, a simple little creature that called himself Erik drifted around aimlessly. He had lost everything: his opera, his identity… "Christine…" 

Suddenly, a sound reached his ears. It stirred up something in the core of his being. He followed the glorious until he met a most glorious sight. If Christine was an angel, then this blue-haired beauty was a demoness of flame. He drifted closer and listened to the name the crowd chanted.

"Ember…" he sighed.

Perfection.

* * *

A/N: Next up: Whistlin' Dixie. And for those who haven't yet, go read my one-shot, Behind Blue Eyes. 


End file.
